“No!” she said with a divine sweetness; “I will not go.  I shall only breathe a little fresh air.  I will remain until they are safe, I promise you;” and she left the room smiling upon the poor woman.  After a few minutes, Durocher said to M. de Camors: 

“My dear sir, I thank you—­but I really have no further need of your services; so you too may go and rest yourself, for you also are growing pale.”

Camors, exhausted by his long ride, felt suffocated by the atmosphere of the hut, and consented to the suggestion of the old man, saying that he would not go far.

As he put his foot outside of the cottage, Madame de Tecle, who was sitting before the door, quickly rose and threw over his shoulders a cloak which they had brought for her.  She then reseated herself without speaking.

“But you can not remain here all night,” he said.

“I should be too uneasy at home.”

“But the night is very cold—­shall I make you a fire?”

“If you wish,” she said.

“Let us see where we can make this little fire.  In the midst of this wood it is impossible—­we should have a conflagration to finish the picture.  Can you walk?

“Then take my arm, and we shall go and search for a place for our encampment.”

She leaned lightly on his arm, and took a few steps with him toward the forest.

“Do you think they are saved?” she asked.

“I hope so,” he replied.  “The face of Doctor Durocher is more cheerful.”

“Oh! how glad I am!”

Both of them stumbled over a root, and laughed like two children for several minutes.

“We shall soon be in the woods,” said Madame de Tecle, “and I declare I can go no farther:  good or bad, I choose this spot.”

They were still quite close to the hut, but the branches of the old trees which had been spared by the axe spread like a sombre dome over their heads.  Near by was a large rock, slightly covered with moss, and a number of old trunks of trees, on which Madame de Tecle took her seat.

“Nothing could be better,” said Camors, gayly.  “I must collect my materials.”

A moment after he reappeared, bringing in his arms brushwood, and also a travelling-rug which his servant had brought him.

He got on his knees in front of the rock, prepared the fagots, and lighted them with a match.  When the flame began to flicker on the rustic hearth Madame de Tecle trembled with joy, and held out both hands to the blaze.

“Ah! how nice that is!” she said; “and then it is so amusing; one would say we had been shipwrecked.

“Now, Monsieur, if you would be perfect go and see what Durocher reports.”

He ran to the hut.  When he returned he could not avoid stopping half way to admire the elegant and simple silhouette of the young woman, defined sharply against the blackness of the wood, her fine countenance slightly. illuminated by the firelight.  The moment she saw him: